"Oh, I don't know," he mumbled, trying to assume an off-hand air. "Perhaps we did come along fairly fast."
"You weren't alone then."
"N—o," was the uncomfortable reply. "The fellows who sent you back from the village were with me."
For the first time the workman evinced surprise.
"Nobody sent me," he retorted. "I just thought as I was going by that you looked as if you were up against it, and as I happen to know something about engines I pulled up to give you a helping hand. The fix you are in isn't serious, though." He smiled broadly as if something amused him.
"What is the matter with the car?" demanded the boy desperately, in a voice that trembled with eagerness and anxiety and defied all efforts to remain under his control.
"Why, son, nothing is wrong with your car. You've got no gasoline, that's all."
"Gasoline!" repeated the lad blankly.
"Sure! You couldn't have had much aboard when you started, I guess. It managed to bring you as far as this, however, and here you came to a stop. The up-grade of the hill tipped the little gas you did have back in the tank so it would not run out, you see. Fill her up again and she'll sprint along as nicely as ever."
The relief that came with the information almost bowled Steve over.